


Somewhere Between the Holy and the Profane

by CampySpaceSlime



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, PWP, but anyway heres some porn, im just gay and i love these homocelestials, theres no excuse for this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 07:33:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19786195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CampySpaceSlime/pseuds/CampySpaceSlime
Summary: “I want to do unholy things to you,” Crowley continued, emboldened by the fact that he couldn’t see Aziraphale’s face and he was completely surrounded by the smell of him. With his face in his shoulder, he wasn’t sure if Aziraphale could even hear him properly. He started to move his hips, very slowly, very subtly, sliding against Aziraphale. “And holy things, which is worse really.”Something like a sigh slid out of Aziraphale’s mouth and he started to tremble ever so slightly.“You wily serpent,” he breathed. “You’ve got me all flustered.”





	Somewhere Between the Holy and the Profane

After Adam righted the world again, bringing it back to something almost like normalcy, by all rules of logic, Aziraphale should have reestablished himself in his bookshop and went back to pretending to sell books. He should have been sleeping, as was his custom, on one of the plush couches in the back living quarters of the store. He should have been trying to get back into his routine of habitual blessings and minor miracles. At any rate, what he _shouldn’t_ have been doing, but what he nonetheless was, was making himself at home in Crowley’s flat. He brought a certain cozy charm to the cavernous space and Crowley found that he liked the change in atmosphere, but he was also genuinely baffled by the whole happenstance.

He wasn’t complaining, not by a long shot, but he also wasn’t sure when the second shoe was going to fall. After all, the summer had started burning its way toward autumn and they hadn’t been pestered by any hellish or heavenly representatives since their stunts with the hellfire and the holy water, but Crowley knew the peace was an uneasy one. That Aziraphale had more or less moved in with him ever since that night (“you can stay at my flat, if you’d like”), seemed to be tempting fate ever so delicately. But it wasn’t like they were doing anything so terribly _wrong_ (though, perhaps, that was the problem, Crowley thought, as he hadn’t gotten into some proper mischief in _ages_ ), it was just now there was suddenly books and “eat pray love” knickknacks and kitschy coffee mugs in his home and the plants weren’t so scared anymore and there was an angel in his bed every night. Not that anything had _actually_ happened (“you go too fast for me, Crowley”) but the late summer heat felt oppressive with the idea that it _could._

There were a few other changes as well. They didn’t meet in secret, out of the way places anymore. No memos from Head Offices at inopportune times. And Aziraphale, seemingly at random, would occasionally decide to take hold of his hand as they walked close together, or to kiss the top of his head as he passed by Crowley’s chair on his way to the kitchen, or to squeeze Crowley’s thigh happily before getting to his feet after they’d been sitting next to each other.

It was all very nice and chaste and friendly.

And Crowley, for the first time since the Beginning, was truly and completely, 24 hours a day, in Hell.

He wanted Aziraphale in a way he had never wanted anything else in the many millennia of his existence. He wanted him in the desperate, senseless way a tree wants the sun, reaching ever for it but never quite getting high enough, leaves and bark scorching in the heat of the proximity anyway. Demons were creatures of appetite, it was their whole shtick really. They crawled under your skin and festered and wriggled and burned and Crowley felt all this acutely. He felt like he had when, as a snake, he needed to shed his skin, all heavy and droopy and hot. He was aware of the body he’d corporated into, the body that Aziraphale had also borrowed, in a way he hadn’t before. He felt hungry but nothing would satisfy the pit in his stomach. He felt thirsty but nothing would quench his dry throat. He felt wide awake but couldn’t wait to go to bed at night, just to have Aziraphale close to him.

He tried everything he could think of. He styled his hair differently (this had always worked in the past). He started eating anything and everything (this had always been Aziraphale’s m.o. so maybe there was something to it). He even tried yoga. And gardening. And cold showers.

Mostly though, he started jacking off. A lot. Like he was going for a cosmic record or something. Any time he knew he’d have five minutes of time undisturbed, he was undoing his trousers as quick as could be. He had the decency to be ashamed, sometimes, but it never stopped him from doing it. Even a few close calls with Aziraphale walking in on him wasn’t enough to make him stop. No, Crowley was like a man possessed, which was more accurate a description than he’d like to admit. He was both the demon and the victim and it made for a tight squeeze.

It wasn’t his fault though. Not really. Aziraphale should know better than to be so goddamn cute and charming all the time. He should know better than to siddle up close as can be on the couch or in the bed, so Crowley could feel nearly every inch of him. And he certainly should know better than to run a foot up Crowley’s leg under the dinner table when he makes a particularly naughty joke. But he continued to act infuriatingly indifferent regardless. He simply must have no clue as to what he was doing to his demonic new roommate.

In this state of maddening frustration, Crowley tossed and turned one night as Aziraphale slept peacefully beside him. It was one of those last truly hot nights before the dark brings a settling chill with it, and both of them were too warm to wear anything more than a pair of briefs, one white and one black, respectively. Aziraphale was snoring softly and despite the dark, Crowley could see the gentle rise and fall of his bare chest and he could even see the small drop of sweat that was pooling in the crease of Aziraphale’s collarbone.

Crowley watched it for a moment and then groaned quietly to himself. _Oh, such sweet and agonizing torture_. Satan could really stand to learn a thing or two from this hapless angel. He groaned again, starting to tremble with the effort to not touch all that bare skin… Or lick.

With a firm head shake, Crowley rolled over to stare determinedly at the wall. Despite the casual touches and the leading smiles, Aziraphale had made it clear that if their relationship ever evolved (not that Crowley was sure that it ever _would_ ), it would be a slow and sluggish march. Besides, he was an _angel_ and there were just things that he would not do. Namely, Crowley.

But it didn’t stop Crowley from thinking about it. And think about it he did, as the night slowly crept along. He thought about touching Aziraphale. And tasting him. And being inside him. All of that powerful grace, the Glory of God encased in flesh, spread out under him. Or, _oh yes_ , on top of him. Crowley remembered inhabiting Aziraphale’s body. He remembered running his fingers over it. He itched to do it again.

A red-hot blush spread over him as he pushed at the pesky boner tenting his briefs, trying furtively to make it lay flat again. He wouldn’t be able to crawl out of bed without waking Aziraphale up (the angel didn’t care much for sleeping and was, consequently, a light sleeper) and how humiliating it would be to be caught with such an obvious hard-on. But he couldn’t just crank one out here! That would be depraved… despicable… positively demonic.

Crowley peeked over his shoulder at Aziraphale, who blissfully carried on with his light snores. Crowley’s heart started pounding in his ears. If he was going to do this, it had to be quick and quiet, not a single noise. He reached for his waistband and then stopped abruptly.

What the Heaven was he doing? Had he really become so desperate that Aziraphale’s mere propinquity turned him on so much he could think of nothing else but having a go at the old trouser snake? There was something dreadfully wrong with him. He was cursed in a way that felt bigger than the Fall ever had. Because even as he tried to talk himself out of it, he found his hand creeping toward his briefs again.

_Right. Quick and quiet. Quick and quiet. He’ll sleep through it. Be none the wiser. And you’ll feel so much better. Satan, you’ll feel better._

Before he could think any deeper about it, not that any other brilliant lines of thought were coming to mind, he clasped a hand around his cock and pulled it just free enough of his underwear to where he could get a good grip on it, and let his fingers dance along its length.

_Quicker._

He sped up his pace, curling into a ball, trying not to fuck his fist lest the motion shake the bed, and he let himself think about whatever he wanted to. Aziraphale’s noises of pleasure after he ate something spectacular. Aziraphale’s hands, touching him. Aziraphale’s voice saying– 

“Crowley?” Something of a yawn then. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing! Fuck.”

Crowley looked over his shoulder again at Aziraphale’s eyes shining in the dark. Thank Satan he didn’t have a demon’s night vision. Crowley tucked himself away like he had been scalded and stayed in his tight ball, chest heaving, heart racing, cock screaming. He’d been close, so close, and now the scratch of his underwear against him was a heated punishment.

“Language,” Aziraphale said, more as a reflex than anything else. “Are you alright?”

“Tickity boo,” Crowley ground out through clenched teeth. He didn’t dare do more than breathe. He was going to have to wait for Aziraphale to fall back asleep again, if he was even going to. Sometimes he got up in the wee hours of the morning to excitedly pore over a new book that he just couldn’t wait until a more respectable time to dig in to.

“Hmm,” Aziraphale said, unconvinced. But then Crowley saw a flash of teeth in the darkness as Aziraphale smiled. “Would you mind coming here, then? I know it’s hot but I had the most pleasant conversation with Newton the other day about this lovely thing that couples do and I would like to try. It had a charming name. Kniving? Forking?”

Crowley almost spit.

“Spooning?” he suggested. Still smiling, Aziraphale nodded vigorously. But then the rest of his words sank into Crowley’s mind. “I…” Crowley started, “wait, couples?”

Now Aziraphale gave a pleasantly pitying look as if Crowley had said something remarkably daft. “Yes?” he drawled rather slowly.

“Are we… Do you think… Are we a couple?”

Aziraphale chuckled. “Well, what else would we be?” he said with the same patient tone one might give a child who had just asked if the sun was hot. “So anyway, this spooning business. Perhaps you’d better wrap your arms around me then.”

Heart a genuine battering ram in his chest, Crowley rolled all the way over and crawled the gulf separating them on his belly, serpentine. His dick jostled against the bedclothes and he had to bite down hard on his bottom lip to keep from gasping, as he didn’t seem to have gotten any less hard or any less desperate for release. But there was nothing he’d be able to do about it now. He should be happy enough that Aziraphale even _suggested_ cuddling, not scare him away by his need for more.

But Aziraphale practically catching him in the act and now being awake and expectant of attention from him, rather than make Crowley feel guilty, was actually working to turn him on more. The fear and embarrassment made it all taste more spicy and he knew he shouldn’t give in to all that; he knew what he should really do was decline Aziraphale’s request, but instead he awkwardly flung an arm over Aziraphale, and kept all the long length of the lower half of his body turned as far away from the angel as he could get it. Aziraphale was facing away from him, having turned over as well, so at least he couldn’t see the raging boner Crowley was sporting, but Crowley knew he wouldn’t be able to explain it away if Aziraphale _felt_ it.

_Oh, that he_ would _feel it. Oh that he would_ touch _it. Maybe take it into his mouth._

“Hmm,” Aziraphale said, wiggling a bit. “Now, I don’t claim to be an expert, but this doesn’t feel right. Do you think you ought to, just a suggestion mind you, get closer?”

Crowley wanted to scream.

“I don’t know, angel,” he said instead. “I’m pretty sure canoodling is a sin.”

“I don’t think the Almighty is really keeping close score anymore,” Aziraphale huffed. “What with the Armageddon and all. Seems everything up there has gone just a teensy bit topsy turvy after all. The paperwork alone is a nightmare, I’m told.”

_Ah, paperwork_. Maybe Crowley should think about that. _Oodles and oodles of paperwork. Just reams of it_. Thinking about that should defuse the nuclear reactor currently ticking away in his pants. Thinking about the stacks of damp memos clogging up every bit of hellish office space.

“I mean,” Aziraphale went on, “you don’t have to if you don’t want to. I don’t want to go too fast...”

“Too fast?” Crowley said before he could stop himself, his voice cracking. “If you went any slower, dear boy, you’d be the Sound of Music.”

Aziraphale gasped in that haughty, affronted way he had.

“I… Well,” he sputtered. “We’re not all demons, Crowley. Some of us like a little bit of romance. A little bit of tension.” He started to wiggle again and with dawning horror, Crowley realized that Aziraphale was squirming his way back to get closer to Crowley, whose godblessed erection suddenly piqued with interest at the approach. “Some of us like to be held… And, and, and cherished.”

Crowley scrambled to try to think of something, anything, to do to get out of this mess, but Aziraphale’s warm body and soft words and closeness was ripping to shreds any of his critical thinking skills. This being in a body business, while it certainly had its perks, had quite a few downfalls just the same. Chiefly among them was that in the two seconds it took before Aziraphale’s ass met Crowley’s waist, he couldn’t think of a damn blessed thing to do to stop it.

And then it happened.

Aziraphale slotted perfectly among all the sharp planes and angles of his long limbs and then Aziraphale was sighing contentedly, oblivious at first, but then he shifted to get more comfortable and suddenly through even two pairs of underwear Crowley could feel the cleft of Aziraphale’s ass when it pressed up against his cock, and _oh Satan_ , he was lost, cause now he was hissing out a shuddering breath, and now his hips canted forward through no will of his own, and he lit up like a stoner who hadn’t had a good strain in at least a week.

For his part, Aziraphale froze. Crowley wasn’t even sure if he was still breathing.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said brilliantly. And then, “well.”

Neither of them moved.

“Are you…” Aziraphale whispered after a beat. “Are you… you know…?” He paused. “Wait, when you woke me up, were you…?”

“Yes.” Crowley buried his face in Aziraphale’s shoulder. “I was. I’ve _been_. You just have no idea how… what you do to me.”

“Oh,” said Aziraphale again.

“I want to do unholy things to you,” Crowley continued, emboldened by the fact that he couldn’t see Aziraphale’s face and he was completely surrounded by the smell of him. With his face in his shoulder, he wasn’t sure if Aziraphale could even hear him properly. He started to move his hips, very slowly, very subtly, sliding against Aziraphale. “And holy things, which is worse really.”

Something like a sigh slid out of Aziraphale’s mouth and he started to tremble ever so slightly.

“You wily serpent,” he breathed. “You’ve got me all flustered.”

“That’s easy enough to do.”

And because once he’d started, he couldn’t stop, Crowley rocked his hips a little less subtly, a little more determinedly, and felt sparks begin the ascent up his spine. There was barely a moment before he found himself boldly grinding against Aziraphale, relishing in the soft curves of his body, and making Aziraphale’s quivering more pronounced.

“That… feels nice,” Aziraphale admitted, a hint of bashfulness in his voice. “I’ve never—ˮ

“Wouldn’t have guessed,” Crowley said. “Is it ok though? Not too fast?”

“Not too fast,” Aziraphale agreed. “Although… Don’t speed up quite yet either.”

Crowley grinned his reptilian smile and kept grinding, ignoring all the nerve endings that wanted him to do _anything_ to satisfy that growing ache spreading through him from his insistent groin. But then, _oh wonders of wonders_ , he felt Aziraphale ever so slightly push back against him, circling his ass against Crowley’s cock.

They continued this for a few blissful moments, Crowley pressing forward and Aziraphale pushing back, Aziraphale’s gasping breaths loud in the dark room. There was a nervous earnestness to him and he reached back to place a hand on Crowley’s bare thigh. His warm fingers caused Crowley to shiver and he sped up his movements, even more desperate than before.

“Can I…” he started before he moaned and ran his hands up and down Aziraphale’s arms. “Can I, um, take my pants off?”

There was a beat as Aziraphale shuddered again.

“I suppose you’d better,” he said finally. “But I should like to keep mine on for a time.”

“Right. Of course. Whatever you want,” Crowley said distractedly as he twisted to busy himself with pulling his underwear off as quickly as he could.

He’d been naked around Aziraphale before, as they’d both been in Rome at the peak of all that bathhouse tomfoolery and what have you, but he’d never been in this situation before. Never been this close to the angel before and never had this exact brand of urgency to get even closer. He wanted to do all sorts of things, things that involved words like “wet” and “hard” and “penetrate”, all just byproducts of having a human body housing a demon and being so thoroughly in love. But he didn’t want to scare Aziraphale away with the overwhelming size of his love and his need and the yearning lust pulsing through both. Had the angel ever even properly lusted before? It was a deadly sin after all. But, Crowley reasoned, so was gluttony.

“I’ve been dreaming about fucking you for so long,” he whispered. Aziraphale stiffened. _Ah, too fast then. Slow down, Crowley_. “But I want you to tell me what you want and how you want it.” At that, Aziraphale relaxed again. _Good. That’s better._

“Maybe, you could just,” Aziraphale said quietly, “just hold me some more?”

Crowley brought himself back up to Aziraphale, wrapping him in an embrace that made his cock get trapped against Aziraphale’s lower back. He breathed into Aziraphale’s neck and tried not to let his want get the better of him.

They were quiet again for a while. Nothing but Aziraphale’s soft and Crowley’s much more ragged breathing and the thump of a fan on the other side of the room that was meant to try to banish the heat. In the darkness, all of Crowley’s senses were on high alert: he could smell the old book and sugary bakery scent of Aziraphale’s skin and he could hear the faintly husky uptick to his breathing, but mostly he could feel the hot wetness of Aziraphale’s sweat on his chest.

Aziraphale shifted and Crowley slid down his back from the movement and groaned loudly as the sweat-slick skin brushed his cock and sent explosions of pleasure through his body. At Crowley’s visceral reaction, Aziraphale did it again, moving until Crowley’s cock was wedged between his inner thighs. At this, Crowley started to whimper and, slowness be damned, he started to grind his hips against Aziraphale again.

When his dick kept thrusting in between Aziraphale’s legs, Crowley moaned and began to move faster, until there was an unmistakable sound of the slap of skin on skin.

“Is this ok?” Crowley said, but it was barely more than a whisper between wordless grunts.

“Oh yes,” Aziraphale replied, breathless. “I like the sounds you’re making.”

“Oh. Well. I’m glad then.”

Crowley kept up his pace, sliding in and out of Aziraphale’s thighs, just under the swell of his ass, still hidden in his underwear. Crowley didn’t really care about the offending article of clothing anymore, any of Aziraphale’s skin around his cock was good enough for him. There were many things Crowley was, but when it came to Aziraphale, picky was not one of them.

Every inch of flesh made Crowley’s whole being crawl with pleasure. Heat spread through his entire body and something big and bright was building up in the back of his skull and it felt like it was trickling a warm waterfall of sensation down his spine.

He sped up his ministrations even more and suddenly he couldn’t think at all over the rising bliss blowing out his mind’s circuitry. He was whimpering in a most unrefined manner, which seemed to do nothing but make Aziraphale push back against him again and again. Maybe there were words too, that he was saying, because he could have sworn he could hear his own voice, high-pitched and needy, saying “I love you” and “I need you” and “Aziraphale” and even “you, you, it’s always only ever been you”. And, ( _oh this was undignified wasn’t it?)_ he was losing every shred of his demonic aloofness and for what? A proper Greek thigh-fuck? Imagine what Aziraphale could reduce him to with his hands or his mouth or his… He couldn’t even think of it, not now, or he wouldn’t be able to last another second.

And he was already close. So, so close.

“I like this,” Aziraphale said. “I’ve decided. Yes. Crowley, you’re so beautiful, you know.”

He wanted to argue but he couldn’t because suddenly Aziraphale’s hand was on his leg again, patting affectionately and kindly, so kindly, and he was lost in it all. Aziraphale hummed pleasantly and Crowley said even more embarrassing things that boiled right down to the fact that he was spine-tinglingly in love with Aziraphale and there was nothing he could possibly do to combat it. He’d been in love with him for more or less six thousand years and it was painful and obvious and sublime.

“I’m gonna…” Crowley gasped, and at least he could manage to be embarrassed that he had barely lasted at all. Though, if one thought about it, six thousand years was a pretty damn long time to last. “You’re gonna make me…”

Crowley thrust between Aziraphale’s thighs even harder, and relished in the powerful feeling as it flooded him. Aziraphale must have known what he was trying to say, because he rubbed gentle circles on Crowley’s thigh and said, very sweetly, “go ahead. Cum for me. Cum _on_ me.”

The words cut straight through Crowley. He couldn’t believe Aziraphale even knew how to talk like that, much less that he could mean it. But he said it so innocently, it became a genuine request, as if Crowley was kindly doing him a favor. How could he say no to something like that? Not that he was ever able to really tell Aziraphale no to begin with.

A guttural sound welled up in Crowley’s throat, something more primal than the serpentine hiss of his laughter. He canted his hips one final time and gasping “no” and “yes” all at once, he came, striping Aziraphale’s underwear and legs with his release. He felt like a thunderclap had gone off in his brain and he quivered as he thrust a few more times, his whole body sweet with pleasure, until it became unbearable for his oversensitive dick.

He clutched onto Aziraphale, holding him tight against his chest as if he expected the angel to run away or otherwise disappear. Neither of these options Aziraphale did. Instead, he sighed and laced his fingers with Crowley’s. 

Silence once again fell over them, broken only by Crowley’s too loud, too heavy breathing. Crowley took the time to try and put himself back together after it felt as if his brains had been blown out. It was a good long time before he had any presence of mind at all.

“Aziraphale?” he whispered finally. “Did you…? I mean, do you want me to, uh, finish you off? I’ve been told I’m a fair study with this tongue.”

“Oh that’s quite alright,” Aziraphale answered cheerfully. “I did it in my pants ages ago.”

“You? What? When?”

“Well, you were having such a good time, I didn’t want you to stop on account of me.” Aziraphale rolled over to plant a gentle kiss on Crowley’s lips and then went on, “that was marvelous, by the way. Very Greco-Roman. Better than anything Wilde and I ever got up to.”

“You? What? Wilde?”

“Mmm.”

Aziraphale snuggled into Crowley’s chest, apparently nonplussed by the mess between his legs. “I love you too, you know,” he purred dreamily, ignoring any more of Crowley’s sputtering. “And I have for a very long time. I want to continue to show you just how much in these fun little ways, but do be patient with me.”

“Well,” Crowley said, “now that the Apocalypse is over, we’ve all the time in the world.”

“Good,” Aziraphale said. “It’s settled then.”

“What is?” Crowley asked. “What’s settled?”

“Just the matter of me taking my time and slowly and, I imagine, achingly going over every bit of you and taking you apart in a myriad creative ways. I’ve been reading up on the subject after all. All of this, at our leisure, of course. I think I’m very much interested in seeing you beg.”

It was a lucky thing that Aziraphale’s face was buried in the crook of Crowley’s neck so he couldn’t see the wild-eyed, slack-jawed expression on the demon’s face. It was very at odds with the cool persona he liked to adopt and which Aziraphale was quite impressed and enamored with.

“That…” Crowley managed to choke out. “Sounds lovely.”

“But for now,” Aziraphale said, “I think this spooning enterprise deserves a second go around. So perhaps you ought to just cuddle with me.”

So Crowley did.


End file.
